


Killing the Idea

by ColidaMae



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cop AU, F/M, I'll add tags as I think of them, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multiple Murders, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 19:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18947425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColidaMae/pseuds/ColidaMae
Summary: New York is where is his new life is.  New Life.  He'd been calling it that for past eight years.  It didn't feel like new life, more like he was just going through motions, living a half life.  But when ever a case would land on his desk, that was when he felt somewhat normal.  The hunt to find justice and closure that he was denied to a stranger's family would put a portion of the fire back in his soul.  But it would always die back to the embers as soon as he handed over the files to the DA's office.  If he was to keep living, he need something that could light that fire and keep it going again.  But would he find it?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So I have been working on this for over a year, lol. And now I have decided to post it to see if I can get the gumption back to finish it in a timely manner. The Thieves' Art Week on the Facebook Black Sail Fan Group also helped to motivate me to post this. I have not had this edited, so if you see something, please let me know. Enjoy!

Chapter One

She was so warm, her blankets and mattress hugging to her body in all the right ways to lull her back to the comfortable depts of sleep. However, the music playing loudly from her alarm clock told her it was not an option at this hour on this day. She stretched her feet out underneath the weight of her comforter. Spreading her toes she savored the feeling of the stretching traveling up into her calf muscles, before curling them up for a moment.

Sitting up, she stretched her arms high above her head. Her fingers took a few strands of her wavy raven hair when they had ventured to close to her face on the way up into air. A sigh whispered it’s way across her lips while bringing her arms back down, one hand hitting the off button on the alarm clock before coming to join the other in her lap. She smiled as she gazed out the bit of window she could see from between her curtains.

It was mid spring. From the welcoming sunlight and songs from different birds making their way in from outside the double panes of glass, it was promising to be a wonderful day. 

She sighed again, brushing a stray piece of her long hair away from her face. Her father was due to be flying into JFK airport in three hours. Another small smile pulled at the corners of her lips at thought of seeing her father again. It had been two weeks since she had driven him to airport for a flight to Washington DC for a senate meeting. She knew he would enjoy the lunch she had planned for them that afternoon.

The wooden floor was cold on her bare feet when she had finally swung them out from under the covers after one more good stretch. The sensation only seemed to strengthen the pressure that had made its home in her bladder over the course of the night. She quickened her steps down the hall of her apartment to the bathroom.

Once there, she focused her attention on getting her pajama shorts and underwear down around her knees and herself on the toilet seat before her bladder released its flood gates. As relief washed over her, she gazed out the window at the mass of tree branches that reached up past her third story apartment. There were little birds hopping from branch to branch, finding this or that to build their nests with. She loved to watch the birds. But she did not have time this morning to truly enjoy them.

With the whooshing and gurgle sound of the toilet draining in the background, she turned to the mirror above the vanity sink to judge whether she needed to wash her long locks while she washed her hands. But her eyes never made it the mirror.

They had fixed themselves on what was in her vanity sink. It had not been there last night when she had gone to bed. Her eyes got large as her still sleep hazed brain finally processed what her eyes were seeing. Then, scrunching her eyes closed as tight they would go.

Outside the bathroom window of apartment 3C, home of Abigail Ashe, all the birds took to the air from their tree as a shrill, blood curdling scream ripped through the crisp morning air.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we meet everyone else!

Chapter Two

There was a pounding just above and behind his eyeballs. The more, it seemed, he rubbed at the ridge of his eye sockets the harder the hammering became. Detective Flint looked around the bullpen of the precinct. When he was sure no one would notice, he pulled a flask from the inside breast pocket of his jacket blazer, unscrewed the stopper and took as long a haul from it as he dared. As he tucked it back away in its rightful home, Flint was sure he could already feel the pounding lessen. But he would need more hair of the dog that bit him before the pounding fully vacated the inside of his skull, as it has been every morning going on close to six years now.

He was wondering if anyone would notice if he were to slip off to his car to drain most of the contents of his flask, only to fill it back up. He was truly wishing at this point in time he had two flasks. But then he still wasn’t quite ready to resign himself to that kind of drunk...yet.

It was still early enough that there weren’t many people in the bullpen, mostly due to shift changes and end of tours. So Flint decided he won’t be missed for a little while and pulled himself up from his desk chair and headed for the elevator. However the sound of his name caused him to roll his eyes and causally change his rout to the coffee machine instead. He promptly made it as though he hadn’t heard his name being called by the second man of his detective unit.

“Flint, why haven’t you been picking up your phone?” Just the sound of Detective Silver’s voice this early in the morning was wearing on his last nerve. He liked Silver truth be told, he was a good cop and a first rate detective, but he could nag with the best of the old hags. 

Flint sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee that had most likely been brewed some time last evening and was most certainly burnt. “Well Silver, it might have to do with the fact that it hasn’t rung this morning.”

A sigh came from behind him. Flint sensed more than anything Silver holding his hand out for Flint’s cell phone. Without getting a verbal request, Flint fished the phone out of the pocket of his cheap slacks, and held it up. Silver didn’t waste any time in snatching the electronic and looking it over as Flint turned to watch him, leaning his rump against the coffee bar to keep himself up right.

“Well no wonder.” Silver really didn’t sound as surprised as his words would have suggested. “It’s fucking dead.”

Flint just shrugged. He really didn’t have it in him to come up with a snarky response as per usual. So he took a sip of his coffee. The mouthful almost found its way back into the cup. Yup, it was burnt. Flint made a face as he swallowed, turning just enough to pour cream and sugar into the cup to help with the taste.

“What? No ‘Well detective, does it look like suicide to you, or murder?’”

Flint glared at the curly hair man in front of him over the rim of his paper coffee cup. “Go fuck yourself Silver.”

The other man put on a dazzling smile that Flint knew was all for show, to play into the ‘nice guy’ rep the other cop had worked very hard to construct. “I’d love too, however there is a more pressing matter that needs the attention of us both.”

Flint knew what that meant. There had been a murder somewhere in the city. And if he and his partner were being called to the scene, than the victim must be someone of importance or from money. There were two Major Crime units stationed at this precinct. He and Silver were the two man unit who dealt with murder and the occasional kidnapping. The other unit mostly dealt with major crimes involving murder and drugs, which was why there were three members to that team. Both units were kept busy, however. Crime didn’t discriminate, nor did it hold office hours.

 

** X ** X ** X **

 

Silver had driven them to the scene of the crime. It had taken place in an apartment on the top floor of the three story building. Flint had sent Silver on ahead of him by way of the elevator, as he took his time going up the stairs as to be able to swig from his flask in private. His headache had returned on the car ride over so he figured now was the perfect time to sooth the pain away before he got to the controlled chaos of the murder scene. It wasn’t like the victim was going anywhere.

He nodded to the uniformed officer standing guard at the front door of the apartment. The officer held out his hand to keep Flint from going any further. Flint closed his eyes for a brief moment and shook his head a little at how he had forgotten to show the officer his detective badge first. He blamed it on the pounding in his head. He sighed as he pivoted to show the badge tucked onto his belt sitting on his right hip, not far from his side arm. The officer nodded and drop his hand back to his own belt.

“He was just doing his job, no need to get huffy about it.” Silver was coming out a door in the hallway to Flint’s right. The man, who was normally pale, looked even paler. The curly headed man jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, “Bones is already here.”

Flint just gestured for Silver to lead the way, which he did promptly. Once at the door he had been exiting from when Flint had walked in, Silver stood off to the side with his hand outstretched offering for Flint to go ahead of him. The room was a narrow, but upper end bathroom. A large soaking tub to the left, toilet by the window at the back of the room, with a standing shower separating the kamoad from the vanity. That was where Flint found the medical examiner.

Billy, or as most of those who worked with him called him, ‘Bones’, was bend over with his large hands resting just above his knees while he looked at what was in the raised sink of the vanity. Flint realized now why Silver had looked paler than normal and had had him go first. If Flint had been in the habit of eating food in the morning, he would definitely be having a hard time to keep it down. As it was, his liquid breakfast was churning in an uncomfortable way.

It was a head.

“So,” Flint couldn’t help but look away for a moment to get a grip on himself. It was always hard with dismembered bodies and kids, and it never got easier. Anyone who said it did was either fooling themselves or needed to get done with service to this city. “What do you think?”

“Well detective, I think it’s a head.” Billy’s voice was flat of any humor or snark. He looked up at Flint, who rolled his eyes.

“No shit. How do you think it got here?”

“It most definitely didn’t walk in on it’s own two feet.” Billy stated as he went back to visually examining the severed head. 

Flint pinched the bridge of his nose before smoothing his fingers over his red goatee. He was not in the mood to deal with Billy and his Captain Obvious ways today, or any day really. “It’s obvious that it was placed here deliberately. Is there anything else you can tell me about it? Anything useful?”

“Male.” Flint balled his fists up as he resisted the very strong urge to hit Billy over the head. Why couldn’t have one of the girls come out today? Why did it have to be Bones? “He looks to be in his early 40’s.”

Now that, was something useful. He took his flip notebook out of the inside breast pocket that didn’t contain his flask, along with the pen he stored there as well. Jotting down a note about age, Flint steeled himself to look more closely at the head. First he took a closer look at the area around the head. Writing more notes of what he saw that seemed to be important, like how there wasn’t any blood on the counter surface of the vanity. The only blood to be seen was in the rectangle sink itself. All of the dark red blood was pooled close to the head and drain to which it sat over. There were two small drops of blood to the side of the head in the sink.

Flint furrowed his brow. The face of the head, it looked familiar, but he was having a hard time placing from where. He noted on the pad of paper that the eyes were closed. That interested him. “Where the eyes closed when you got here?”

“Yup. Nothing has been touched since it was called in.” Billy responded as he stood himself up to his full height of about six and half feet, stretching his long frame from being hunched over for so long. “Everything has been documented and pictures have been taken. I’m going to continue to the physical examination if you would like to go speak with young lady that called it in.”

That was Billy’s way of a dismissal. He obviously found Flint to be in the way, like he usually did, and wanted him gone. Flint resisted the eyeroll, and turned back to Silver who was still just on the other side of the door frame.

“She’s in the living room. She looks shaken up, so maybe I should interview her.” Silver said as he backed up to let Flint back out of the bathroom.

Flint shot the younger man a glare. He knew he had a rough exterior, but he knew when to soften up and when to harden himself. “I think I can handle it. I am the senior detective.”

Silver just shrugged. “Suit yourself. I will not come in and recuse you when she starts to cry.”

Flint resisted his second eye roll in five minutes. He made his way out of the short hallway back to where he had come into the apartment. From there the apartment was open concept, opened up into the designated dining, kitchen, and living areas. Looking to his right he found it hard to believe he had completely missed the young lady sitting on the couch of the living area.

She was ignoring the female officer who was sitting with her. Instead opting to stare off, as if in a daze. Flint guessed that anyone would be in a daze if they had woken up to find a head sitting in their bathroom sink. As he got to the couch, he nodded to the uniform to give them some space. The girl didn’t look up. So he took the time to study her for a moment.

Her hair fell in long raven waves around her pale square face. God she looked to only be about in her late teens to early twenties. Her delicate looking hands were clasped in her lap, her amber eyes glazed over as she continued to stare at the carpet.

Flint cleared his throat. The girl jumped, before looking around to find him. She looked liked a startled fawn, so he did his best to lower and soften his voice. “I am Detective Flint. I’m with the Major Crimes unit. What is your name?”

Her eyes seemed to be searching him, as if trying to place something. “You seem familiar.”

Flint let a small smile tug at one corner of his mouth. “I was thinking the same thing about you. I also got the same feeling from the head in your bathroom.”

She blinked before slouching back down a bit and looking back to the carpet. “It’s my father.”

Flint closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, to find the head of your own father. “Who was your father?”

“He is -” She paused, fluttering her eyes shut for a moment, before continuing. “He was Congressman Peter Ashe.”

That was it, everything fell into place. Flint had known Peter Ashe back before he became a Congressman, back when he was just a politician on the upwards climb, not to mention seeing him on television or in the newspapers. He remembered that Peter had had a daughter, he had only met her a couple of times for brief moments. Peter had always put his daughter into boarding school, so she wasn’t around that often, which was why Flint hadn’t been able to place where he had seen her. Not to mention, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. He and Peter had fallen out of touch when Flint had left his old world behind.

Flint sighed softly. He perched himself on the edge of the couch next to the now grown Miss Ashe. “Abigail?”

Her raven lock swung with the force of her head turning towards him. “You know my name? I didn’t give it to you.”

“No, you didn’t. I knew your father before he became Congressman Ashe. I knew you.” Her delicate brow scrunched as she thought, her head tilting to the side. Now he could really see the little girl from back then. “You knew me as James McGraw. I was good friends with the Hamiltons.”

Abigail’s expression picked up at the sound of the names. “Yes, I remember now. When I was little, you and Mr. Hamilton would act out scenes in books while Mrs. Hamilton would read them.”

A smile crept it’s way on to his lips at the long forgotten memory. But it quickly fell away at the thought that those memories could never be made again, because He wasn’t around anymore. He started at the touch of Abigail’s fingers on the back of his hand.

“I was deeply sorry to hear about Mr. Hamilton. He was so smart and full of life.” Flint nodded. But he quickly shook his head. The girl, no, the young woman had just lost her father. Even more, she had been the one to find his severed head, and she was the one trying to comfort him?

“Abigail, I know this is hard, but I need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you’re up to it?” Abigail sat there next to him for a few moments, before drawing in a deep breath, straightening her spine, and nodding once. 

“Good. Now wasn’t your father supposed to be out of the city?” Flint asked while he got his pen and pad back out from his breast pocket. He thought he remembered the news mentioning a congressional meeting.

“Yes, he was in Washington at a congressional meeting. He was supposed to be flying home today. I was going to pick him up at the airport and take him to lunch.” Abigail recalled to him.

Flint jotted down notes as he asked the next standard question. “Did anyone know he was coming back today?”

Abigail thought for a few moments before answering. “Yes. His secretary, assistant, and I believe his aides would have known as well.”

“Do you have a list of those people?”

“No. But I have the number of his assistant. Will that be enough?”

“No, but I’m sure I can get the rest of the information I need from the assistant. Name and number?” His pen was at the ready to write out the characters and numbers. He looked up when he heard rustling of clothing next to him. Abigail was feeling in the pockets of her sleeping shorts. “Everything alright?”

“I think my phone is in my bedroom. I have Mary’s contact information on it.” She looked over to the hallway.

Flint followed her lined of site. The medical assistants were wheeling the gurney into the apartment. He turned back to her. “Abigail, it’s a nice morning, not too cold. Let’s go out onto the terrace and let them finish.”

“But,” her eyes were still fixed on the MA’s as they got the gurney orientated around so they could make their way down the hall to the bathroom. “But you need Mary’s information.”

As Flint took her hand in his, he gently coaxed her to her feet and towards the French doors that lead out the narrow balcony. “I’ll get it before I leave. Right now some fresh air will help.”

Once outside, they stood leaning against the high rod iron railing to the balcony. Flint asked a few more basic questions, writing down the answers as Abigail stated them with the sounds of the street below them and the city at large. “Now, Abigail, do you think it was possible your father could have gotten an earlier flight back into the city?”

Abigail furrowed her brow, her eyelids fluttering as she thought. “He would have told me. He didn’t keep anything from me, nor me from him. There was no need to.”

“But could have been possible? Maybe he was planning a surprise?” Flint prompted. This was one of the parts he didn’t like about questioning the family of the victims. This was usually were they would start to get defencive, and stop cooperating with him. They just could never think their family member could possibly be anything other than an innocent victim. They usually only wanted to remember them in the best light. What they didn’t understand was that he needed to ask hard questions in order to get timelines and information that would help to build an image of the victim, a true image. This image would then help to paint the possible ways the crime could have been committed and why.

“Maybe,” Abigail sounded doubtful. “But why would he get an earlier flight? There was no reason to.”

“That’s what I need to find out.” Flint explained. “There’s one last question. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your father? Anyone he had had trouble with in the past?”

Abigail took a minute to think on the question before shaking her head. “No, not really. Mary and his secretary, Anita, would know more about that sort of thing. He probably won’t tell me any of that. He wouldn’t want to scare me.”

Flint smiled. He remembered that Peter had loved his daughter with all his heart, and how he had always wanted to keep her safe, from all things, no matter how small. That had been one of the reasons for the boarding schools. He reached out and took hold of her hand before he really knew what his limb was doing. “I’m sure that was the case. He had always been protective over you.”

Abigail gave him a small smile back. He gave her dainty hand a gentle squeeze before letting it drop from his own large one. He started to reach into his slacks pocket to retrieve his contact cards from his wallet, before he was stopped. Abigail threw her arms around him in a furicer hug than he wouldn’t have thought possible from someone of her delicate frame and build. 

Flint wasn’t sure what to do, so he patted her back awkwardly with the hand holding his notepad. She held him for what seemed like long minutes before letting go, straightening herself out and wiping at what must have been tears at the corners of her doe like eyes. He felt a pang in his heart for her. But at the same time, he knew that she was strong, that her father had many friends that would look after her. Help her through these hard times that were ahead of her.

“If you think of thing else, give me a call.” Flint held out his business card for Abigail to take. Her long pale fingers gripped the card and drew it close to her face to read. A look of confusion settled on her young face. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does it say ‘Detective James Flint’ and not McGraw?”

“Because I gave up that name when I gave up my old life.” 

She seemed to consider this before nodding once. “Do you keep in touch with Mrs. Hamilton?”

Flint gave a small huff under his breath. “She went back to her maiden name, Barlow. We are living together, have been since - since …” He still found himself, after ten long years, not able to bring himself to say it.

Abigail seemed to understand. “You two were close. It seems right that you and Mrs. Hamilton should give it a go after Mr. Hamilton past away. I have a feeling he would have wanted his best friend to look after his wife.”

Flint couldn’t help the smirk nor the snort. “More like the other way around, really.”

 

** X ** X ** X **

 

Silver hadn’t said anything the whole drive back to the precinct. However, Flint could tell the younger detective had something on his mind. That he had questions he wanted answered, but wasn’t quite sure how to ask them. Flint had learned early on that if he asked Silver first, the man couldn’t get out what he wanted to say or ask in a way for him to get the answers he was looking for. So, Flint waited, no matter how much it annoyed him. And it annoyed him to no end.

As they sat at their respected desks, facing one another, Flint’s feeling of wanting to punch Silver was getting stronger due to the younger man’s word constipation. Or maybe he just needed to a drink to calm himself, he wasn’t sure which; it was entirely possible it was both. Before he was able to make up an excuse to sneak off to “visit the jonh” to swig from his trusty flask, Silver finally found his tongue.

“So, the witness didn’t seem to take offence to you in anyway. But I think what surprised me the most was the hug.” Flint raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Silver without raising his head fully. Silver swallowed and gave a wary grin. “I’m just saying, you’re not all that good with grieving family members. Let alone consoling them.”

“Stop right there why don’t you, before I have to help our dear senior detective here get rid of your body.” The gruff sounding voice came from behind Silver. The older man with a plop belly and a close cropped beard that was more salt than pepper made his way over to their desks.

“I’m sure I don’t know of what you are talking about Mr. Gates.” Flint said in a humorless flat tone as he went back to reading his notes for the fourth time.

Gates had been Flint’s partner before the old gentleman had retired, at which point Silver had been appointed to him. Or that was what Gates called it. Officially, on paper, Gates was retired, but still worked the front desk and the phones. Whenever he was on a break or needed to ‘get out of the house’ as he liked to say, Gates would wonder his way up to the bullpen and ‘see what he could see’. Flint usually didn’t mind, Gates had been a great detective and his input was usually noteworthy. Not to mention he was most likely Flint’s only real friend, other than his “wife”, as Gates always called her.

“Did you boys get the Ashe case?” Gates asked as he firmly planted his backside in the chair next to Flint’s desk, back to Silver. Gates wasn’t biggest fan on Flint’s new partner. Stating he was to much of an inexperienced boy.

“How did you know that?” Silver asked giving the back of Gates bald head a inquisitive look. “Don’t tell me the media has already gotten a hold of this?”

Gates chuckled. “You should know by now boy that the media knows everything, even before you know it. Those conniving bastards.”

Flint couldn’t stop the snort that forced its way out of his throat and through his nostrils. He didn’t like the media, they always got the story wrong the first few times around, half the time they didn’t care if it was wrong because it was a better story that way. Not to mention they were always in the way or scaring off witnesses. But Flint’s dislike of the media paled in comparison to the old detective’s hatred for them.

“Is there going to be any conflict of interest?” Gates’s voice was softer, as if he wasn’t sure he should be asking the question in the mixed company. Flint gritted his teeth, but didn’t look up from his notes.

“Conflict of interest?” Silver’s voice sounded confused. “I mean the victim's daughter is cute, but that shouldn’t count right? She only hugged him once, plus I’m pretty sure she is way too young for him.”

Flint glared up at his partner, who promptly blushed and busied himself with his own notepad. “He’s just another person who has been murdered. There is no conflict of any kind.”

“Well, it still might be worth to mention it to the madam that you and Congressman Ashe knew each other once upon a time.” Gates gave him a look that involved a raised eyebrow and small smirk.

Flint groaned. He knew his former partner was right. It was best to get this minor detail out of the way so he could get this killer off the streets. If not and his relationship, however brief, with Ashe was to come out at a later point in time, it could jeopardize the whole case. Flint heaved a sigh and got to his feet heavily. He really wish he could sneak off for a drink first, however Gates was giving him a look that hinted at that the older gentlemen knew what Flint was thinking.

Before he was able to make his way over to the closed off office, a ruckus at the further end of the bullpen drew his attention. He rolled his eyes at the site. 

Jack Rackham, one of the detectives of the other Major Crimes unit, had his arms above his head, fists balled up in a victory stance. Jack was the flamboyant one of the three, and he was also more excitable. Flint was pretty sure he was the only member of the second unit that was human. One of his teammates acted more like an emotionless robot, while the other was more of a rabid heathenistic thing.

Flint knew the other unit had been working on a case that involved a drug smuggling ring. From Jack’s victory lap around the other end of the bullpen, they must have closed the case. Jack was high-fiving members of the drug unit that shared that end of the bullpen with the second Major Crimes team. Flint’s could see Ann Bonny standing off to the side, out of the way. She always seemed like she was lurking. Everyone knew not to mess Ann. Flint had heard a rumor that when she was a uniform, her partner had tried to force himself on her, so she had cut his manbits off. He wasn’t so sure how true that was. He squinted to see if he could see the third and less unsavory member of the team, he was nowhere in site. Good riddance, Flint was in no mood to deal his gloating, smug face.

Running a hand back and forth through his short red hair, Flint knocked on the closed oak door with its privacy glass and gold painted lettering, Captain E. Guthrie. He waited for a few moments with no answer before knocking again, a little louder this time. A muffled voice came from the other side, it sounded a lot like ‘give me a fucking goddamn minute.’ He couldn’t help the small smirk.

Flint liked their captain, one of the few who did. She had more balls than most of the men in the precinct combined. And she was loyal to them, or that was what he had always found. There were many in the precinct that didn’t like her, and it wasn’t just the good ol’boys that didn’t think a woman should be a cop, let alone run the whole place. They may not like how she swears like a sailor and shoots her glock 9 with the best of them. Most men don’t like to be shown up by a woman. Flint won’t be surprised if Eleanor Guthrie became the Police Commissioner one day. A day that was probably sooner rather than later.

The door jerked opened in front of him. There stood a young lady, who on more than one occasion had been mistaken for a rookie uniformed officer before her bars were noticed. Her square, beautiful face was framed by her long wavy blonde locks most women had to fake. Those blue eyes were cool and glaring until they recognized who had disturbed her, to which her neutrally painted lips tugged upwards at the corners. “Flint, come on in.”

Flint moved passed Guthrie, following the motion of her outstretched arm into the office. The room was flooded with natural sunlight from large windows lining one wall of the of the heavily wooded accented office. Everything in the room felt very masculine, Guthrie hadn’t seen the point in rearranging the office when she had taken over from their last captain. Maybe she had thought it would put the men at easy if nothing had changed. It may had also just been another way for her to reassure them she was, in fact, one of them.

He mirrored Guthrie as she took her seat in her large leather desk chair, by taking a seat in one of two leather chairs on the opposite side of the large ornate wooden desk. Flint had always wondered how the previous captain had been able to obtain such a fancy piece of furniture.

“How is the case going? Any good leads?” The questions drew Flint out of his distracted thoughts. He really need a coffee brandy.

“It’s really too early to have anything solid. But there was something case related I wanted to discuss with you.” Flint stated as he tried to keep his hands from twitching in his lap. At Guthrie’s gesture to continue, he voiced what was on his mind. “In a past life, not as distant as I would like to admit to, I knew Peter Ashe before he was a Congressman.”

He almost would have thought his captain hadn’t heard him if hadn’t been for the faint pursing of her faintly pink painted lips. Eleanor Guthrie sat forward more in her chair, rearranging her arms so she could lean on them on the surface of the desk in between them. “What do you mean by you knew him? Do I need to reassign this case? Because I really don’t want to do that. You’re my best detective, and I really need my best on this case.”

“No, we met through mutual friends. We were more acquaintances than friends really.” Flint hoped Guthrie would buy his attempt at soothing her concerns. His earlier headache was making its way back with a vengeance all its own, making if hard for him concentrate or keep his voice neutral. “We hadn’t even spoken in six years. Ashe is no different than any other victim to me.”

He met her blue eyed stare head on. If he flinched or looked away or showed any other signs of weakness, he would be off the case in less than a heartbeat. Guthrie didn’t like wildcards, nor anyone who could be labeled as unpredictable. And showing any signs of weakness according to Eleanor makes someone a wildcard or unpredictable. There was only one person in the precinct that fit that description, and Flint did not want to be associated with the likes of him in his captain's eyes.

Captain Guthrie sat back in her large chair with a smirk playing around her lips. “Good.”

The sound of the heavy office door being swung open had both Guthrie and Flint turning toward that direction. The deep gruff voice preceded the ‘lion’ of the Major Crimes division entering the room. “Well those drug smuggling, cock humping, pussy boys are in the hands of the FBI now.”

Detective Charles Vane wasn’t an overly tall man, average height, however he had a gift to be able to project his presents so it would fill a room, even from the doorway. That was something that annoyed Flint to no end, also a special gift of Vane’s. It annoyed him because it competed with his own ability to take over a room without raising his voice, or really even having to speak. Another thing that annoyed Flint was the fact that Vane kept himself quiet buff under his suit, something Flint only knew due to the fact Vane pretty much lived at the precinct gym. Why did Vane feel the reason to train in the gym at all the hours when he wasn’t on a case? Flint assumed it was to get attention. Pretty much if anything involved Charles Vane, it was a millisecond away from bursting one of Flint’s blood vessels.

“Detective Vane,” Eleanor’s tone was long suffering as she brought a hand up to her forehead to presumily try to easy a blooming headache. Flint knew he always got one whenever Vane was in the room. Speaking of which, his was now making his head feel like it was being cracked opened from the inside. “I know you were raised by pirate wolves, but even wolves have manners and cleaner mouths than you.”

Flint rolled his eyes at the proud smirk Vane spotted, he obviously took the insult as a compliment. It made Flint sick. Vane was like a hound on a good scent when it came to their captain. He always pushed all the limits with her, like he was trying to impress her or prove something. Flint was sure there had been something between them at some point. His best educated guess was that it had been a physical something. Vane’s reputation when it came to love was to ‘love them and leave them’, preferable all in one night. However, it seemed to be the other way around when it came to Eleanor. It was like she had moved on, but Vane hadn’t.

“When the door is closed, you are supposed to knock.” Flint forced through gritted teeth. “Can’t you see we are having a private conversation?”

Vane looked down at him like he hadn’t even realised Flint had been in the room. Then a slow smirk crept to one side of his mouth. “Jealous Flint? When was the last time you had closed a big case like the one we just did?”

Flint huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing himself up as best he could from a sitting position. “You closed? From what I’ve heard you and your team were just grunts for the FBI. I’m sure they won’t actually say who ‘helped’ them when they give their press conference, your services not being noteworthy.”

The smirk faded from Vane’s while his eyes narrowed and seemed to shot daggers. Flint didn’t flinch. Instead he matched Vane without getting up or changing his body position. This was a different kind of stare down than one he had just shared with Eleanor. This stare down was for dominance. Dominance over one another, and dominance over the Major Crimes division.

There came a long sigh from the other side of the desk. “Boys, now there is room enough in this sandbox for both of you to play nicely with one another.”

“Humph, then tell that to him.” Both Vane and Flint said at the time, in the same tone.

Eleanor just rolled her eyes at both of them, this was a common occurrence. “Both of you are idiots. Congratulation Detective Vane on the RECO case. However, Flint is right, we were in the middle of a private conversation, though I believe we are finished. Now I have a lot of work to do, so both of you, please go back to your desks. One of you has a mountain of paperwork to fill out and other has a case to solve.”

Flint rose from the chair he had been occupying, never taking his eyes off his opponent. They both straightened to their full heights, which was the same. Puffing themselves up, posturing, staring one another down as if to size one another up like two bulls before a fight. The first to show a sign of hesitation will signal the other to attack. 

“Alright, both of you, out! And if I hear of any fighting between the two of you, both of you will be suspended without pay for three weeks.” Captain Guthrie’s voice was very firm and full authority. They continued to stare for one heart beat, two heart beats, three heart beats. At the same time, they deflated their chests, Vane turning and walking back through the doorway. Flint waiting another three beats before following him out, closing the door behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  


Three days. It had been three days and there were no new leads as to what, why, and who had killed Peter Ashe and staged his head in the apartment of his one and only child. They didn’t have a lead as to where the rest of his body could be either. Silver had been spouting theories of what could have happened to Ashe’s body all morning. His latest was that the body had gone down a bathtub drain, dissolved by a mix of chemicals.

Flint groaned into his elbow where his head rested upon his desk. In his other hand was an extra large paper coffee cup three quarters of the way filled with a mixture of Flint’s creation. Black coffee and strong coffee brandy, he figured it would be harder for anyone to detect the alcohol. However, it was doing nothing to dissolve the headache Silver’s theories were give him. He really needed to stop letting Miranda talk him into drinking wine, he always ended up with an unforgiving headache the next day. “And do you suppose his daughter is the one who did it?”

Flint lifted his head when his question was met by silence. Silver had his face scrunched up as if he was trying to figure something out. Flint almost thought he should mark it down on the calendar, a speechless Silver was truly an event to commemorated.

Silver finally flicked his dark blue eyes at his partner. “No?”

Flint rolled his eyes. “Are you asking or telling?”

The sigh Silver pushed out had enough force behind it to rustled a few hairs on Flint’s head. “I don’t know. If his body really was dissolved in a bathtub, it could have been her. But she doesn’t seem the type to kill a fly let alone her own father.”

Flint raised an eyebrow at the last statement. “No one really seems like a killer to one person or another. My gut says she didn’t do it.”

Before Silver could argue the point, his phone rang. He shut his mouth and sighed again before he picked up the receiver. “Detective Silver, Major Crimes.”

Flint let his eyelids drift close as the other noises of the bullpen started to lull him to sleep, until a pang of pain shot through his skull. He really shouldn’t take a nap right now, nor would he really be able to with this headache. He had downed a third of his coffee when he had bought it this morning as to be able to added the liquor to it before getting to the precinct. But the home remedy was just taking the edge of the pain.

The sharp change in Silver’s voice when he asked who ever was on the other end of the line to slow down so he could find a pen, had Flint sitting up straight. He waited for the call to end so he could ask what had thrown Silver into a frantic state. However, he never got the chance.

Silver looked up sharply after he hung the phone up. “They found the body.”

 

** X ** X ** X **

 

Truth be told, it was only an assumption it was the body of late Peter Ashe, it didn’t have it’s head after all. Silver had wondered aloud, like there was any other way for him to wonder, how many other bodies around their great were missing their heads? However, the curly haired detective had a point. It was going to down to matching DNA from the head to the body to know for sure.

The smell of the fish docks permeated the inside of the car while they were still two miles away. The smell only got worse as they turned onto wood bridge that breached the gap from the paved road on land to the huge floating wooden docks. Flint hated the sound of the wooden planks under the tires of the car, it put his teeth on edge. Silver parked the car alongside the other police vehicles, and turned the siren off but left the lights going.

Both of them showed their detective badges to the uniformed officers keeping the press and onlookers on the right side of the yellow police tape. Gates was on the inside of the quarden off crime scene waiting for them. “Took you long enough.”

“Silver drives like your grandmother.” Flint used his coffee cup to point to his partner, who shot him an offended look.

“Humph,” Gates’ was eyeing the coffee cup in Flint’s hand, almost like he knew it wasn’t just containing coffee. He seemed to decide to get back to the matter at hand, for he moved off towards a black sedan. “Well, the body was found in this car here. From what we have been able to find out, the car is a rental, a high end one to boot.”

“Who discovered the body?” Flint asked as he took his notepad out to make notes using his coffee cup as a portable desk.

“A couple of fishermen who came out here for a smoke. They’re saying the car has been here a few days, and curiosity finally won out.” Gates hooked his thumbs in the utility belt of his uniform as they made their way to the black sedan that had all four doors open as crime scene techs milled around combing for evidence.

Flint nodded to Silver, who wordlessly cut away from him and Gates to head for the two men who had let their curiosity ferment over the course of three days. Flint wrote down the make, model, and license plate of the car, before moving to the front to write down the vehicle identification number. “Where in the car was the body found?”

“In the back seat, sir.” The closest tech answered, he didn’t even look up as he was picking things out of the carpet with tweezers.

“Hmm,” Flint tapped the end of his pen against his bottom lip.

“It’s just as Gates said,” Silver said as he jogged over to Flint. “They had noticed the car three days ago, but hadn’t check it until until this morning. They don’t know anything else, just that it was there one morning.”

Flint nodded as he made his way around to the other side of the car. “If only all our witnesses were so helpful. So where is the body now?”

Gates pointed to a point further down the floating docks, and started to lead the way. “The body had to be moved. It had been baking in a black car, on the docks, for days. We were lucky it hadn’t blown up on us with all the bloating.”

Flint sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening, when he saw the women kneeling next to the body. From the way the woman’s long black hair was in a ponytail of much smaller braids, and the way Silver was straightening his tie and smoothing his shirt, the medical examiner was one Dr. Madi Scott. 

There were three medical examiners, Bones who was Flint’s least favorite, Max who was the youngest and newest addition of the three but just as knowledgeable, and Madi. Flint tended to think of Madi in a fatherly way. He had noticed himself starting to do that with Max. Flint had this weird way of adopting the women around him.

When she flashed a warm smile up at him, Flint couldn’t help but return one to her. Nor he could help noticing the wide awkward smile and fidgeting wave Silver offered to her. Madi took it all in strides and shared a knowing looking with Flint, before giving a curt nod of greeting to Silver. They both knew Silver had a crush on Madi. However, it was an unspoken agreement not to talk about it, least of all with Silver himself.

“So darling, what can you tell us?” Flint readied his pen over his balanced notepad.

“That I won’t know anything until I can cut him open and run tests. The heat of the car and the accelerated decomp means I can’t tell you much past the fact this body is a male and he is headless.” Plain facts, but Madi always said them nicer than Bones. He had learned early on that it does no good whatsoever to push or bug the M.E.’s once they told you they need to completely finish their examination before giving any further information that could lead to a lead. It usually made them resentful and would drag their feet on all your cases.

Flint looked around at the medical techs that were taking samples and readings of things around the body. But there was only one he really recognised. There were supposed to be two. “Where’s Charlotte?”

Madi didn’t even look up as she used a large set of tweezers to pull back the collar of the button up shirt, as to be able to get a better look at the wounds on the exposed flesh. “She went home sick before we left.”

“She better not be preggers.” Flint had to quickly dismiss the smirk that wanted to force its presence onto his face. Idelle, the tech Flint recognised out of the other half a dozen milling around the crime scene, usually had a blunt way of putting the things that were on her mind. Flint liked her too.

Madi gave Idelle a warning glare. “We shall not pass judgement on her if she is. We will support her anyway she needs us.”

“Oh hell no,” Idelle snapped her gum loudly. “I would never ‘pass judgement’ on her for not being married and having a kid. I am passing judgement that she stuck me with doing both my part and her part of the work.”

Again, he barely won the battle with the smirk. And it looked as though Madi was having the same issue. “I’ll be able to tell more when we get the body back to the lab. But … it appears the instrument used to remove the head, had the same type of cutting edge.”

“Is there anything else you can tell?” Silver asked, he was still a Grasshopper after all. It was good for him to learn lessons on his own. “Like a cause of death? Was it the be-heading?”

Madi just looked up at him with an unimpressed expression. Before she could answer, Flint did it for her. “Where you not listening? She’ll have more information when she gets the body back to the lab.” He paused as he noticed a building just over Silver’s shoulder. He furrowed his brow against the sun’s light. “What is that building over there?”

“Uhh-ha,” Silver looked around to see what Flint was looking at, then at Gates who shrugged. “I’ll go find out.”

Instead of waiting for Silver, Flint just made his way over. The large double doors were open for the whole world to see. It looked to be a fish processing shed. Flint looked at one of the gentlemen who had found the body. “What is this place?”

“It’s where we gut and finish processing the fish we bring in.” The one in the green beanie. They both looked alike, both had breads, simulare faded clothing covered up with soiled aprons, only their hat colors stood out to Flint.

“Is it usually open like this?” Flint asked as he entered the shed, looking around from floor to ceiling. The place reeked of an iron smell and old fish. Flint decided it would be a better idea to breath through his mouth.

“Not at night. We lock it up when no one is here.” The green beanie answered simply.

“Well…” Flint looked around just in time to see the green beanied man, the one he had been talking to, elbow his coworker, the man in the blue beanie who had been the one to speak.

“Well what?” The two men just looked from one another. Flint gritted his teeth as he decided he needed to play bad cop, his favorite. “Do I need to remind both of you that this is a murder investigation? And that I can have both of you thrown in jail for hindering prosecution and obstruction of justice?”

The second man, the blue beanie, swallowed autibling. “Well, the morning the car had shown up, when we had come to open the shed for the first boat, the lock was busted.”

Flint rolled his eyes and closed them against the headache eating away at his brain cells. “That should have been something you told us right away.”

“We didn’t want to lose our jobs. Nothing was missing or out of sorts. So we just bought a new lock and called it good.” The green beanie said, scuffing his boot along the thick wooden planks of the dock.

Great. Flint sighed and yelled out to the medical examiner and techs, “can I get a crime scene team over here?” He turned back to the two men. “Are you the only two that have been working in here the last three days?”

They both nodded. “Other than the crews bringing the fish in for us to slice and dice.”

“What’s up Gingerbread?” Flint glared at Idelle and her nickname for him. She knew he didn’t like it, which was why she kept using it. 

“This whole shed needs to be swept and tested. The murderer may have used it to cut the head off.” He stated.

“Oh I see why,” she looked around and snapped her gum again. “Because of all the blood and sharp pointy objects, any evidence would just blend right in here. I’d kill someone in here.”

“Yup, definitely a good place to hack up a body.” Silver had joined them. He walked further into the shed looking at the several stainless steel tables with drains at one end for the blood to drip down and back into the ocean. There were magnetic strips on two walls with various knives of many different shapes and sizes stuck to them. Everything a murderer could ask for to help cover up their crime.

Flint sighed. He turned to Madi as she came up beside him. “Let us know what you find. Come Silver, we need to check out a hardware store and the security cameras of this place.”

 

** X ** X ** X **

 

The fish docks didn’t have any cameras that covered the fish processing shed. And the cameras they did have on the docks, were pointed at the harbor master’s office or out to sea. Nothing useful in any way. After all, who would want to do anything with the fish shed other than to cut up fish? When they had checked on the lock story the two beanie wearers had given Flint, the owner of the hardware store that was only a half a mile from the docks told them he had waited on the two idiots and had in fact sold them a replacement lock at the time they had said.

Now they were just waiting on testing and lab work from the medical examiner’s office, which could take a few days or more likely a few weeks. The events of the whole day had put Flint into a right foul mood. Which was only fueled further by the fact he had run out of his spiked coffee and had drained his flask all before noon. He’d snapped at Silver one too many times for the younger man had slinked off somewhere in order to be out of firing range.

Flint was staring at his notepad, drumming his fingers on the inexpensive metal desk, just waiting for something to pop out and head him down a promising lead. His concentration of glaring at his notepad like a suspect was broken only by the smell of popcorn drifting to his nostrils. The aroma remind his stomach that he hadn’t eaten since the danish he bought along with the cup of coffee that morning. Maybe he should call in an order to the Indian restaurant two blocks from the precinct.

An hour and a half later found Flint scraping the plastic bottom of a bowl of curried chicken and jasmine rice. With a sigh from having his stomach satisfied, he threw the empty take-out containers in the trash bin next to his desk. He looked over at the desk across from him. Silver still had not returned from where ever he had disappeared to. Flint assumed the young man may be down in the morgue trying to win the affection from a particular medical examiner. Flint kind of felt sorry for Madi. But only a small amount, the two would make a good pair.

He was just signing into his computer to follow up on the car the body had been found in, when he heard Silver’s chair creak under the weight of someone larger than its owner sitting in it. “No, I didn’t get you anything. You don’t like Indian food, Hal.”

“I like Indian, it clears the sinuses out.” Flint stilled his fingers on the keyboard at the rasp of a voice that was most definitely not Hal Gates.

There, lounging across from him with his feet resting on Silver’s desk and a bowl of popcorn in his lap, was Vane. “Get your feet off the desk, it’s rude.”

“I know it is, I just don’t care.” Vane said while looking his bowl over like he was figuring out the best way to attack it, before picking out one of the fluffy pieces. He continued to eat his snack, or it could be his dinner for all Flint knew, picking the whitest pieces out while avoiding the buttery yellow ones. “So is it true Ashe’s head was found in his daughter’s bed like in The Godfather?”

Flint rolled his eyes, the precincts rumor mill had already warped the story. He needed something to distract him from the annoyance across the desks, and since he had run out of brandy in both of his flasks some time ago, he could follow up on a lead. He grabbed his notepad out of his top drawer and flipped to the page where he had written the vin number to the car the body had been found in earlier that day, and started clicking his way to the D.M.V. lookup. “No.”

“Do you think she did it?” Vane asked immediately, almost as if he had expected that answer. He didn’t even look up as he munched the popped kernels. “I’ve met a heartless bitch once or twice through the years of this job. From the two articles written about the Congress man’s daughter, I’d bet two shots of tequila she isn’t one.”

Flint narrowed his eyes at the man across from him who was still picking through his popcorn. Was it possible there was more to Vane? That there really was a human being with an intellect that allowed him to see through rumors and guess at the truth? Flint shook his head. If he was having crazy thoughts such as those then he needed at least three large stiff drinks and bed. “No.”

“No what?” Flint looked up at the question. Vane was munching while watching him with a placid look on his long face. When Flint raised an eyebrow, Vane restated his question. “No, you don’t think she killed her father? Or, no, you think she is a heartless bitch.”

Flint bristled. He may not feel much of anything towards Peter Ashe, but he did towards his daughter. Abigail had always been a sweet child, and the short time he had spent with her three days ago, told him she had not changed. “How dare you imply such a thing. Abigail is not capable of such an act towards anyone. Let alone say anything that would constitute her being labeled a bitch.”

The smirk that spread across Vane’s face caused Flint’s stomach to drop out. The man looked like the cat who ate the canary. “Abigail is it? My, my, my. Our upstanding Detective Flint, who can do no wrong, are you getting a little too involved with the victim’s daughter? Who, might I add, is young enough to be your daughter.”

Flint’s chair made a loud crash as it met the tan speckled linoleum floor. He was fuming. He half expected to feel steam spouting from his ears. “You sick swine. Of course you would see Abigail that way.”

“See, there you go again. Calling her Abigail and not Miss Ashe. It implies you know her on a moor…” Vane paused to pop a few pieces of his popcorn into his mouth. “Intimate level.”

Flint roared, lunging across the two desks to slam into Vane. There was a cracking sound but he didn’t slow to see what it could have been, only taking the time to rear back so he could slam his fist into Vane’s surprised face. “Everyone in this district knows you sleep with most of your female witnesses! How fucking dare you imply I am the same as you!”

Vane’s bloodied smile spoke of him being proud of that fact. It disgusted Flint to no end, so he punched the smiling idiot again. However, as he pulled back to punch Vane a third time, Flint found his world being rotated. Vane had flipped them seamlessly, and was punching back. As Flint tasted his own blood, he gave another roar, returning fire.

Next thing Flint was aware of was his fists couldn’t reach Vane anymore. Nor could Vane’s reach him, for that matter. Jack and Anne both had a hold of Vane. Both men gave sounds that could only be growls at each other. Vane gave another sneer before seemingly shaking his two partners off with easy, only to try and straighten his ripped shirt that was now missing a few buttons; and to whip at the blood smeared on his stubbed face.

Flint looked around him. Silver and Gates were holding him back by the arms and shoulders, both with worried expressions. And there was Eleanor, standing with her arms crossed and an expression like a disappointed teacher. He licked the blood from his split lip, “I’m sorry Captain, I lost my temper.”

“I think it’s time you go home for the night Detective.” Eleanor’s tone didn’t leave any room for argument, unless he wanted to lose his job.

Flint starred into Vane’s fireces blue eyes a beat longer before taking a step back and made to collect his blazer where it was now on the floor from him tipping his chair over. The gruff huff from behind had him stop mid-action. “That’s right, run along home like a good dog obeying its master.”

Flint turned on his heel, ready to punch that smirk off of Vane’s face once again. Gates had other plans. The older man was faster than most people gave him credit for. He caught Flint’s arm, keeping it at his side, while his other hand landed on Flint’s heaving chest. “Now, let the savage take his cheap shots. You have a little misses to get home to. I’m sure she would just love to have you home before bedtime for once.” 

 

** X ** X ** X **

 

Flint slumped back against the front door as it clicked close behind him. His lip was throbbing in time with the elevated heart beat. He was still fuming over his encounter with Vane. Even though Gates had been right, the last verbile jab Vane had landed still had him ready to fight. Gates had tried to cool him on the way to his car by informing him he was not a coward as Vane had suggested. But was seasoned enough to know when to pick battles, and keeping his job was more important than beating the shit out of a low balling savage. That was Gates favorite label for Detective Vane, savage. Flint had to admit, it fit the man perfectly.

He growled when his tongue swept over the large split in his lip. There really was no choice in accepting the fact Vane landed punches as if his fists were anvils. And that pissed him off to no end, causing his fists to clench hard at his sides.

“Did we have another fight on the playground my Dear?”

Flint opened his eyes and felt most of his anger melt away, with smirk that met him. The corners of his mouth tried to return the smirk of the beautiful woman who seemed to be floating towards him. Miranda had been a dancer at one point in her life. The soft grace of dancing had never really left her. Even her downy brown hair, which was usually pinned up in some stylish way, seemed to be floating around her even as she came to a stop in front of a few mere inches from him.

“I heard the car, but no one seemed to be coming any further into the house. I figured I should investigate.” Miranda’s voice was just as soft and light as the rest of her being. It was always a sound that could bring him back to a calmer state.

He sighed and felt his muscles start to relax against the door. “It has been a long day with many frustrations.”

Miranda hummed and took his hand. She lead trough their house and out into the back yard just with the gentle touch of her finger tips. A welcoming fire was in dancing in their stone fire pit on the very private patio. The evidence of a heavy blanket, a wine glass, plate with fork and knife, and book laid as to save Miranda’s reading place, told Flint she had been out here for a few hours. Which wasn’t surprising. This was one of her favorite spaces in the house, other than the den with its large fireplace.

“Why don’t we split a bottle of wine, snuggle under the blanket until the fire goes out, and then slip off to the bedroom.” Miranda’s eyes were dancing with the light from the fire in the stone pit as leaned the length of her body against his. The smile playing around her lips was one of mischief. It all came together to make it hard for him to say no.

He shook his head. “Not wine again, I always end up with a headache the next day.”

The smile grew bigger and her voice a jiggle of a laugh on it. “You always have a headache. Brandy for you, wine for me.”

A bottle of crisp white wine and half a bottle of well rounded brandy later, and Miranda was leading him just by their connected fingertips up to their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on Chapter Four, I'm not sure how long it will take, but I have about a quarter of it done. Stay tuned because we will be going to the morgue!


End file.
